Biker Mice Novels & Stories

My knees buckled, and for a second, I thought I was going to faint. The biker dropped Marcus like a sack of potatoes. Marcus scrambled away, gasping for air, and ran away without looking back. The biker turned to me. He didn't offer a hand. He stepped into my space, his heavy boots making noise on the pavement, and pinned me against the seat of his motorcycle. He smelled of gasoline, expensive tobacco, and a musky, animal scent that made my inner thighs ache. "You're a messy little thing, aren't you?" he muttered, his eyes—those same piercing, predatory blue eyes—scanning my face. He reached out, his calloused thumb dragging over my bottom lip.

Back home, my room felt like a quiet island. I sat by the window, watching the bikers outside. They were showing off their rides, engines rumbling low and loud, lights flashing in the early evening. It was like some kind of rough dance — leather jackets, tattoos, engines growling, engines roaring. They were wild, free in a way I could only dream of. I wanted that freedom. I wanted to be part of that world but without the pain. The sky was turning a soft blue-gray, the kind of color that promised rain or you know, a storm. We were in the rainy season.

My hands trembled in my lap and I clenched them into fists, nails digging into my palms until they burned. The car rolled to a stop in front of massive wrought-iron gates. Beyond them stood a sprawling mansion, dark and imposing against the evening sky. Bikers moved around the courtyard, some repairing bikes, others sparring shirtless with knives glinting in the last rays of sunlight. Wolves padded between them, their eyes reflecting the headlights like liquid gold. My breath caught in my throat. This wasn’t just some biker gang. It was something else. Something ancient and terrifying. And why did they have wolves as....pets?

# Bonus Chapter 24: Full Circle Mia Park was seven years old and had been begging to ride on a motorcycle since she was old enough to understand what they were. "Everyone else gets to," she complained to her mother on a Saturday morning, watching through the kitchen window as Duke prepared his bike in the driveway for a routine ride to the garage. "Uncle JJ had his own bike at sixteen. Grandpa Duke rides every single day. I'm the only one who doesn't get to."

But make no mistake: you do not mess with me, my brothers, or their old ladies. ​I climbed down from my bike. The house wasn't completely dead, but it was quiet for a Sunday morning. Most of my club brothers were back home with their women, though a few were definitely upstairs in the clubhouse rooms, hooking up with the club girls. Even the guys with old ladies still mess around at the clubhouse sometimes. I guess their women know exactly what they signed up for when they chose the biker life. But me? I could never imagine cheating on Ella. Once we are together, that's it. She's my only one.

And having grown up together their whole life, they work well together running the MC and making the other generations proud. ~~~~~~~~~~THE END~~~~~~~~~~ Be sure to check out my next Biker Romance posting any minute!! Follow me to find it easier, and get notification when it posts!!! Thank you for taking this journey with me, and showing my story your time! "Claimed by the Bikers" "A Menage". It's about the Vet MC. Jaycee and Kenzie’s biker family and Angel's adopted family. It all starts with 3 best friends, Raine, Kim, and Sam. A brunette, a red head, and a blonde.

That’s when Amelia saw it. Tucked in the inside pocket was a small, old patch. The color was faded. But she could still see the design—a snake coiled up with its fangs showing. And in big letters underneath: COBRAS MC. Amelia’s blood ran cold. She had seen enough TV shows to know that motorcycle clubs were about land and fighting. And if Lily was carrying a rival club’s patch… "Lily," she said carefully. "Where did you get this?" The little girl’s face went white again. "I... I found it. I wasn't supposed to keep it, but..." She started breathing fast again.

KLAUS The drive back felt heavier than the looming threat pressing down on the city. Michael and Mex were asleep in the back, heads tilted against each other, innocent as angels despite what I’d just witnessed them do. My hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles pale against the leather. I couldn’t shake the sound—the way the bikers’ bodies had hit the ground, the lifeless thuds like broken drums. And then their eyes. Wide, empty. Dead. All because two kids opened their laptops like it was homework time.

It seems he knew all of it was a made up story. “And this biker, what's his name?” he asked, eyes still locked on his notepad. “Mordred Sinclair,” I replied, letting the hate drip into every syllable. “He’s got a crew. Black Vipers or some biker gang bullshit. Check the cameras outside. You’ll see.”

I screamed again and this time, I was close enough to catch his attention. He turned towards me with a questionable look and I pointed across the room. “Look!” His eyes followed my gesture to where the bikers were already dismounting from their bikes. I was only begining to notice the Mike Myers masks all the bikers wore when I saw then pulling out shotguns and riffles and mini machine guns from their bikes. Everything seemed to come to a sudden stop before my eyes. All the music and chatter and the clinking of glass faded into the background at once as I stood still, caught in a daze as the motorcycle gang stepped forward and opened fire.